


in before and out after

by curtailed



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dream Bubbles, Emotional Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-13 16:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtailed/pseuds/curtailed
Summary: Sollux and Dave meet in the pseudo-afterlife.





	in before and out after

**Author's Note:**

> this pairing exists from sheer indulgence
> 
> also, i mnea, they're literally 2cool to be twogether? :)
> 
> also my 1st smut attempt; yeah time to flush this shit down the toilet
> 
> pls read end notes

Once again, the Game pulls a complete shitstopper on you -- but instead of dying alone on a meteor, surrounded by blurry faces and the smell of your own blood, the later victory ensures your dead self flung to the furthest corners of the universe.

Dream bubbles, you suppose.

But it's not dream bubbles because it's filled with living people -- hell, you know Karkat was alive when the whole fiasco's over and yet he winds up in yours for a while, his overblown rants and sheer assdropping disbelief eventually petering out into almost lost expressions, staring outside your joint hive as you float lazily across the universe. 

"We _won,_" he says in a small voice, hoarse and raw like a live nerve. "We beat the game and we _won._"

You wouldn't know. You do remember piloting a meteor to the speed of _fucking_ _light_ \-- high five you, genius move, didn't feel like a bomb went off in your stomach -- and then the cold, hard ground hitting your back.

A few minutes -- hours -- if that was a thing -- later, Karkat's gone. His part of the hive has detached, and with a hollow pang you realize it's because he desired it hard enough -- he wanted to leave you, he wanted to find others. Maybe not maliciously. 

The end result is that you're alone.

Temporarily.

Before you even have time to collapse on the ground and began next stage -- click! brooding -- the room blurs and dissolves and you're staring in the interior of a messy, foreign apartment. was that the word? with ugly-ass red curtains and objects littered across the floor and what looks like fucking katanas strewn across the carpet, along with some of the most bizarre puppets you've ever laid eyes on (and you've seen Gamzee's, all right) discarded across a futon.

And sprawled next to the plush puppet, glasses askew and clothes bloodstained, is the only human you've ever seen in your life.

-

It's pretty fucking awkward.

With Karkat, at least, it's effortless settling into the black-red tinted bitchfits you always hurled at each other, packed with enough vitriolic friendship and merciful slander to keep a meteor afloat -- oh wait, that's you -- and, hell, at least you _spoke to him before._ Preliminary requirement of dream-mates. At this moment, you wish that it was literally any other troll keeping you company.

Karkat would be a fine choice if he didn't just drift away, that piece of shit. Not that you blame him. Perhaps Terezi, because she gets to be another witness to your mustardfestplosion. Aradia, because no matter how much your relationship had dissolved you were still in pale-flush with her so hard, and knowing that all remains of her are cindered robotic parts just tears your heart apart. Feferi, because she was sweet and tolerated your presence and you liked making her laugh and she was a gogdamn princess to your pissblooded peasantry and she didn't deserve to get her guts blown out, no matter what the hell happened between her and Eridan --

Fuck, you'd take Eridan. Death doesn't work in the bubbles; you wake up with a hangover and all old wounds healed. You would die again just to beat the shit out of the doucheprince, and maybe sneak in a mack or two. Maybe.

Kanaya. Nepeta. Tavros. Gamzee. Equius. Vriska. Any of them. No matter how much you hated some of them (you know, for killing your matesprit-moirail by _hijacking your brain_, _hold up_ still your fault), or tried to stay away from the others (Equius's sweaty obsession with AA, what the actual fuck), or simply exchange empty platitudes (pretty much the rest of them? you're holed up at your husktop way too often), at least you _know_ them. You have a general idea of who they are. You're liable to tell if they'd talk to you or skewer you.

All you remember of --

uh...

Shit, his name.

"Your bubble's not leaving," you say to him one day, while he's laid across the futon again.

It's the first time you acknowledge his presence.

He raises his head slowly like he's underwater, and you quickly categorize his features. Thin -- not as thin as you, no one is -- but lean, pure white hair in soft tufts across his scalp, skin almost the same color, and there's always those dark, glassy shades plastered to his face. He's God-Tier, you realize, taking in the obnoxious red cape and apparel's he got. For a moment you're tempted to ask where his wings are.

"Mm," he says, and holy hell you thought ghost Aradia was deadpan, she's got nothing on this human. He could be talking to a lump of metal. _He_ could be the lump of metal.

"If you wanted to leave, you just have to wish hard enough," you tell him.

He doesn't bother turning to you, still mutely staring at the ceiling. "Can I find my friends if I 'wish hard enough?'"

"No." Gog knows you and Karkat tried, and your failure is as spectacular as your second attempt to duel Eridan.

"Then there's no reason to move."

What an insufferable prick.

====

You get his name the third time you toe into his half of the bubble.

To your neverending surprise, he's actually changed positions -- he's sitting upright on the couch, idly fiddling with a palmhusk in his hand. Surprise jolts through you when you recognize the all-too-familiar interface he's scrolling through, reading through a variety of blue and purple and bright green texts like it's the only novel in the world.

"Is that..."

"Pesterchum. Trollian. Don't give a fuck." He glances over at you, still rooted in your world-shattering surprise. "You could wish for all sorts of shit here. I just wanted to open up some friend chats and -- boom -- on my screen."

You don't immediately rush back to your room to get your husktop; you take deep breaths instead, control your pace to a relaxed run, and who the fuck are you kidding you have Trollian opened up on your screen almost automatically, and _holy hell_ all the trollhandles are in their colors, even the dead trolls --

You know who to talk to first, your fingers are a blur across your keyboard -- you need to talk to her, you need to talk to her, you miss her so fucking much --

twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling apocalypseArisen [AA]

TA: AA

TA: oh my gog you're actually aliive.

TA: and not 2hiitty robot piece2.

TA: oh my gog.

TA: there'2 2o much 2hiit ii want two tell you, but ii mii22ed you 2o much.

TA: are you okay? who are you holed up wiith?

TA: ii thiink both aliive and dead troll2 coexii2t iin the2e bubble2.

TA: ii would gouge my eye2 out iif you were wiith eq agaiin.

TA: ii mean, unle22 you want two be.

TA: but ii'm thiinkiing maybe we could meet up and

TA: uh

AA: s0llux?

Your heart leaps in your throat, and your face feels like it's about to crack from your grin. Tears are literally going to spill from your eyes. Gog, you love her so much, you never stopped loving her, and you'll follow her to the end of the universe if you have to. If she wanted you to.

TA: hey AA.

AA: um im glad t0 see y0u t00!

AA: but what d0 y0u mean by dead and alive?

TA: the troll2 iin the bubble2.

TA: and probably 2ome human2 two.

AA: human2?

TA: the piink hornle22 thiingiie2 KK alway2 yelled about.

AA: 0h are they a type 0f me0wbeast?

AA: i th0ught bees were m0re 0f y0ur thing.

Your smile could crack glass by how frozen it is. A dark, cold emotion curls in your stomach, and you're realizing where this conversation is heading.

TA: AA, are you aliive or dead?

AA: s0llux thats such a strange questi0n!

AA: h0w can i be dead if im talking t0 y0u?

TA: you don't

TA: you don't remember?

TA: about TV and VK and the robot body?

TA: me flyiing over to your hiive and....

TA: ....

AA: i th0ught y0u live very far fr0m me!

AA: y0u d0n't have t0 make any special trips t0 visit

AA: im always willing t0 talk t0 y0u thr0ugh here

AA: a r0b0t b0dy d0es s0und interesting :)

AA: are y0u talking ab0ut tavr0s and vriska?

TA: AA....

TA: do you know what 2grub ii2?

AA: n0?

AA: is it a f00d

TA: do you remember me kiilliing y

With dawning tread, you realize you physically can't type in the word.

Awful reality crashes back onto you.

You can talk to them. You can talk to them all you want, but you can't tell them what will ever happen. The bubble won't allow it. And you're talking to them in the past, and later you'll try contacting her again but it's still her and she's out on an excursion -- and everytime you _try_ to tell her, try to tell her you're responsible for razing her hive to rubble -- pain increases in your head, your vision blurs, and you just. Can't. 

Your Aradia -- if there ever is one -- doesn't exist.

When you finally stand from your morass of misery, the husktop clutched tightly to your chest, you return to the common room. 

The human still lounges in the same spot. His head's bowed, his hair soft and feathery across his brows, his shades still on his face his hands tightly holding his palmhusk, he's staring at the same pattern of colored texts you saw earlier.

He's crying.

It's a quiet type of crying, where tears come out slowly and he doesn't sniff or shudder like you'd expect him to -- he just stares at the text rolling before him, rapidly filling up the screen, a few droplets hitting the device. He doesn't swat away when you lean over his shoulder to read the messages:

GT: dave strider you are such a doof sometimes!!!

TT: If this is considered another of your "ironic pranks," I must preemptively give you your congratulations before John does.

EB: you almost got me there, dave! jesus, you're getting better at this.

TG: yup thats me

TG: just a bad prank

====

Contrary to popular belief, your dual union in realizing you're actually stuck with only each other does _not_ send you on any path of affability or superficial camaraderie at all. 

You're not sure what to do in your spare time. Back on the meteor there were codes to crack, Karkats to piss off, Feferis to chat with, Eridans to poke at, escaping the omnicidal demon, etc. And at least you could always pop a visit to Derse, floating in your stupid pajamas and vaguely wishing you could meet Aradia here, at least, but she's never mentioned any dream self before. 

Which piques your curiosity about Dave, for no apparent reason.

He's got a set of...turntables? in his hands, gigantic headphones over his ears, and he's nodding his head in rhythm to music you can't hear. He's also swapped out of the idiotic outfit and replaced with some lightwear; long-sleeved shirt with a broken record design, jeans, and bright red socks.

His shades are over his eyes, just like the fact that trolls have horns and planets revolve around celestial stars. It's a universal constant. It's inescapable. You're self-conscious of your own red-and-blue glasses, pushed up into your hair, and then you realize you're living in a bubble and you don't give two shits.

"What are you doing?" you ask him instead.

He glances up at you, his mouth pressed in a thin line. He's trying to place a name to your face, you think belatedly, but he's probably only seen your decaying corpse on the meteor. Great first impressions all around. His fingers keep up the rhythm, tapping against his thigh, but he slides the headphones off.

"Music," he finally says.

You two stand there in awkward hell.

And because you possess no shame, you stride over and promptly sit next to him -- he flinches a little, his hands tensing like he's about to yank out his katana. You ask for his headphones and he reluctantly complies.

How do you know he wields a katana?

You snap the mufflers over your ears, and it's a dizzying, rapid pulse combined with a trail of high-pitched notes and a rumbling bass that reminds you of Alternia's lightning storms, fiery and flaming like white-hot sparks. It's nearing the edge of _something,_ this wild, raw power and always the steady rhythm, the steady beat, grounding everything to a background whisper.

Holy shit.

When you give the headphones back to Dave, he slips them around his neck. You should say something to him. Compliment him. Try to spark up some banter, like what you and KK have, or at least any sane thread of conversation.

"You know I've seen your childhood, right?"

Dave freezes.

"I mean, not that I stalked your bathroom escapades or anything -- just -- I saw your house life. And your lusus. And -- " he's not staring at you, his hands are digging in your knees, congratulations, Sollux, you fucked up everything. "And how he raised you. All of it."

"Want to recite them for me?" he replies, and his voice _drips_ with venom.

He's actually going to kill you, you think wildly. He'll take his sword -- and you remember the sword now, he was practically born with one -- and he'll lop off your head, and when you respawn he'll do it again until you learn to keep your mouth shut. All you wanted was a common topic. 

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up, I just thought -- "

"Who else saw it?" Dave's voice is sharp.

You gaze off at a peeling wall. "Terezi. She was the one that pushed me aside from your communication. And, uh, Feferi, but I don't think you know her."

"Terezi knew."

You blink over at him confusedly. "Of course...she was your patron troll, wasn't she? Why wouldn't she know?"

"She always kept saying 'I pity you, you're pathetic,' and I always thought it was a troll thing. Like the flushed quadricle or something." His expression is horribly, horribly stoic. "But I guess she actually meant it."

"I don't think you're with her anymore?"

"What's more interesting," he drawls out, "is why you're _thtill_ here, trying to pry into my life."

"I didn't pry!" you snarl back, defensive. "I just -- I just _saw_, okay? Just a glimpse. But I can start remembering shit easily, and I never thought about you twice until you wound up here and I have nowhere to go. So I thought I'd bring it up."

"Okay."

You shoot Dave the dirtiest look you can muster. "You're a dick, you know that, right?"

He slips the headphones over his ears and cranks his music loud enough that it's audible. Some part of you is a little disappointed that he doesn't continue to speak -- just turns away from you, fumbling at his turntables -- but you squish down that part like you would step on a bug. It's unnecessary, irrelevant, obsolete, you could go on. 

You depart the common room without another word.

====

You wonder what else Sollux's seen.

You don't intersect paths with him too often -- you catch glimpses of him drifting into your shared room, scavenging for a bit of food here and there. Neither of you need to consume sustenance, but it's a habit that's hard to break off. He swipes what looks like Faygo soda and grubloaf; you, in turn, feast off of Doritos and mountain dew. You do your music, sketch some shit, try not to think of the last three years, try not to think of your Bro, try not to think of John or Rose or Jade or Dirk or Terezi or Karkat or any of your friends at all, and you remember the dark depths of the meteor and how you all changed so _quickly_ \-- you wouldn't even recognize yourself from three years ago. It's, as Terezi coined it, pathetic.

And here you are.

You look up to the sound of footsteps -- Sollux freezes like a deer in headlights, both hands holding a bottle of Faygo hostage. He squirms under your stare, all thin bones and ratty shirt and double horns...?

"You have double horns," you say, once again mastering the art of tact.

Okay, this is weird as hell. You two haven't talk since the time he tried to open your can of worms with a jackhammer. You still feel a tinge of guilt over that fiasco; he really didn't mean any malice, but the _thought_ of him being privy to your deepest, darkest moments in your life is unbearable.

Not even Karkat knows.

"Yes," he replies carefully.

This isn't going anywhere.

"Alright, let's make this blunt." You're not thirteen, damnit, you can learn to make new friends. Ish. You pat the spot besides you on the sofa. "We're stuck with each other. We're literal strangers. I'm Dave Strider, I was the Knight of Time until I landed ass-first in this bubble, and you're Sollux something because Karkat kept weeping out your name after you supposedly exploded like a packet of mustard sauce."

"Karkat? Weeping?"

A bit of annoyance threads under your skin. "Yeah, he was full-out bawling, with these pale red tears coming out -- no, scratch that, both him and Terezi were clumped around your body, and then -- "

He waits patiently, still looking intrigued.

"I think Gamzee stole your corpse and stuffed it in the fridge?"

"Great to know," he says, taking the seat a respectable distance from you. "And it's Captor."

"Hm?"

"My last name."

You observe him a bit closer. He's around your height, if an inch shorter, but he keeps fidgeting with this restless energy that vibrates through his bones. His eyes are solid orbs behind his glasses, you realize -- no pupil, no iris, just pure white like all the other ghosts.

"You had red and blue eyes, didn't you?"

"I'm a psionic," he responds as if he's heard that question a million times before. "I can move around shit with brain electricity. That's how I saved all the trolls on the meteor."

"Modest, huh."

"Someone had to," he says shortly. He doesn't complain about it, his eyes staring off at a distance. "And by then...I mean, I knew. I knew I was going to die. Might as well help KK and TZ and KN and GZ make it somewhere."

He flexes his hands in his lap.

"So what happened afterward?" he asks you.

He's given you the first half of the story. Your tongue feels like glue in your mouth, and you force yourself to say:

"Okay. Rose. Do you know her?"

"I think that's KN's human."

"They're a thing." His eyes widen in surprise a little. "Alright, so me and Rose go on this death mission -- we die, and we rise as fucking God Tiers from the Green Sun. We meet up with Aradia, she guides us to the meteor, and then -- yeah. We're off. Aradia stays behind to do some dream bubble shit."

His jaw is in danger of hitting the ground.

"You...met up with Aradia?"

Huh, right. She and Sollux had something between them -- Karkat had been pretty evasive in his stories about the trolls, barely throwing snippets of info your way.

"I mean, yeah. Curly ram horns girl, right? She was also wearing God Tier stuff -- she has the same Time Aspect as me." 

"She's alive."

"Yeah, dude. As alive as you weren't." 

Sollux's face goes through a bajillion emotions -- pure, pure surprise, then elation, then a deep, painful grief that makes your stomach clench in sympathy. "Oh fuck," he whispers, pushing his glasses up into his hair, and his eyes are trailing red-and-blue tendrils. "Oh, _fuck._"

"Sollux, buddy, I'm not on the same page as you here."

"She's alive," he mumbles hollowly, burying his face into his palms. "Oh my gog, she's alive, _oh my gog._"

He's --

He's sparking madly, stray ones getting too close to your legs for comfort, and his chest is shuddering and his frame is all tightly hunched over -- he's crying, actually crying, these raw, agonizing noises tearing out of his throat. Pale yellow tears stream down his face, pooling in his shirt, and he slips a hand over his mouth to suppress his sobs. He sucks in a deep breath, and you swear you can hear it rattle in his chest.

"Hey," you say softly, because holy hell you never wanted to see a troll cry and it's not just because of the weirdly colored tears, "hey, that's good, right? Maybe you could talk to her -- I mean, if these bubbles ever get anywhere -- that's good, alright, just -- yeah."

You're really not sure what to do.

So you make a slow retreat into the kitchen, listening his sobs fade out into dry gasps. You remembered yourself crying, and him simply standing behind you, not saying a single word. The last time you had cried you were standing over Bro's body, his blood drying around your sneakers.

Seriously, when did you ever register for a pity party?

====

You find yourself sprawled near the edge of the rooftop, watching paradox space whiz beside you in all its empty glory.

A presence settles on your left.

"It's not stargazing if there isn't any damn stars," Dave Strider tells you, back in his God TIer outfit again. You study the colors, the gear on his chest -- it's what Aradia would've been decked in, the simmering, gleaming red of Time. Her wings would've been rust-colored, veined and fragile, but so, so powerful. She was God Tier. And from what Dave had told you --

"She _stopped Bec Noir_?"

"For a couple hours," he had said. "That's what Terezi peeped to me, at least."

She had been robot parts and then she had _exploded_ right in your arms and she had stopped a literal god with her bare hands.

And you...just died when you tried to pilot a meteor. You should've been stronger. You should've been more powerful. You could have survived.

You could have reunited with her.

But because you're a skinny sack of shit you're gazing out into the cosmos instead, and watching a dream bubble pass by. Its layers shimmer like gossamer. Dave sucks in a startled breath.

"There's been _dream bubbles_?"

"Don't get your hopes up, Dave. I've tried flying out to them; they zoom by way too fast."

"You were about to leave me all on my lonesome?" He puts a hand on his chest and fake swoons, but you swear you hear an edge in his voice.

"No, dumbass," you groan, "I was just curious. I would've come back." 

_I'm not KK._

The bubble floats nearer.

"You know what's strange?" you tell him. "All of these bubbles only have two people in them. A random pairing. But it's not random at all, because _every_ pair of them at least make sense. They know each other. They've had direct conversations. They know each other's names." _Unlike us,_ is what you really want to attach to your ramble, but you regain good sense at the last moment.

"What do you mean?"

A demonstration soon comes by. You point out Nepeta and Equius, briefly glimmering in the bubble before it flies by. "You see those two?"

"Think they were dead when we came to your meteor."

"Yeah, the girl's Nepeta, the dude's Equius. She likes cats, roleplay, and has a raging stiffie for Karkat; he likes horses, robots, has a sweat fetish, and tried to hit on Aradia before she returned the literal favor." Your mouth still curls in distaste from it, although he _had_ kept the worst of her gloom away. You couldn't even do that for her. "They're moirails. Diamonds. They will never, ever be separated, they're a gogdamn cornerstone."

"I see," Dave says carefully.

You point to the next bubble. "Your Rose and KN. I've saw them several times. Steadiest matespritship that probably ever existed."

"You go, Rose. You go."

More come by.

"Gamzee and Tavros. Dunno how such a spineless dude can reel in a completely murdeous nutcase, but I can't even pretend to be surprised."

"Eridan and Feferi. Despite the fact he killed her. What the fuck, ED!" you yell after the disappearing bubble, flipping both middle fingers after him. "And I love you too, Feferi! I looooooove you!"

Dave has to hold back a snicker. "What's up with that?"

"FF was my matesprit, but she was previously ED's moirail. He liked her flushed, too." Your laugh is bitter. "I think he was pitch for me? But it doesn't matter now. He knocked me unconscious, killed her and KN, KN chopped his fucking self in half, and now it's as irrelevant as the color of my clothes. It doesn't matter anymore."

Moving on, you think grimly.

"Vriska and..." you don't recognize the whirl of blue fabric swaddling a black-haired, bespectacled human boy. "Who's that?"

"John," Dave says tightly. "He's my best friend in the whole fucking world." You glance over at him -- he's got the same raw expression that NP gets when KK nears her, or KN used to have near VK's presence. You don't comment on it. "He's a bucktoothed, giggling idiot, and sometimes I just want to tackle him and tickle the shit out of him until he stops pranking my incompetent ass."

You think of Karkat, of how you two always slammed furiously away at the keyboard for hours, how you verbally eviscerated each other over gaming grubs and coding and basically every aspect of life.

"Yeah," you say quietly.

A bubble with a short-haired girl -- that looks awfully like JH -- and a blonde-haired girl -- that looks awfully like RS -- drift by.

"Jane Crocker and Roxy Lalonde," Dave tells you. "You wouldn't know them. Hell, I didn't know them until nearly the end of the game. Roxy's my ecto-mother or something."

You hold back a snort.

Another pair of humans meander by; a JH lookalike -- but wearing a green jacket instead -- and a spiky-haired, black-shades boy that looks awfully like --

"Jake and Dirk," Dave says tightly. "Dirk's my -- he's my brother."

"I don't remember him looking like that," you say.

"Ectobrother. Not the one I grew up with." He watches his hatchmate disappear into a speck, his mouth set in a hard line. "I -- "

"Hmm?"

"Never mind."

You stare after them a long while.

Both of you sit on the precipice, swinging your feet, Dave periodically shifting to adjust his stupid cape. You're waiting for someone to come by. You've been waiting for them since forever.

"I don't see Karkat or Terezi," Dave says hoarsely.

A pang of pain hits your chest -- followed by confusion.

"You were...friends? With Karkat?"

His throat swallows nervously.

"Yeah." He attempts to wave at a black-haired, dog-eared girl in glasses that's busy chatting with an unholy combination of a crow-shaped Dave and Nepeta? _what the shitting hell_ but neither of the inhabitants notice him. His face falls.

"What kind of friends?" you press.

"Good friends," he replies, and his tone is clear enough that that's all he's saying on the matter.

He departs a few moments later.

You let your eyes drift across the expanse of space-time, searching for a certain time-patterned, curly-horned troll, but your efforts are futile.

====

You get used to his presence.

Exchange teasing but tolerable banter. You do music, draw shit, you hear him click away at a computer. Sometimes he offers you a game to play together. You conjure up a TV, jack in a gameframe, and in silence you watch Sollux pump what looks like plasma rifle shots into your avatar.

"Do you ever strife?" you ask him.

Sollux's thumbs keep up their pace on the controller. For a moment you don't think he heard you at all, the way one of his fangs dig into his lip in concentration, or his horns gleaming dully from the screen's light --

"Strife?"

"Grief," you amend, remembering Karkat's terminology.

He frowns a bit. "Yeah. Pretty much all the trolls did."

You wait for him to make the connection. When he fails to do so, continuing to pummel your character with wave-motion beams, you jump the initiative again.

"Do you want to strife?"

This time the controller jerks in his hands, and his character plummets off a cliff. He watches it fall impassively.

"Where's this question coming from?"

"Boredom. Monotony." He keeps his eyes glued onto the screen. You tap your fingers steadily against your knee, feeling slightly dizzy. You're not sure what you're trying to do, but it's something cold and heavy brewing in your gut -- maybe it's because you're back in the old apartment, and you're feeling the sun scorch your back --

"It'd automatically be unbalanced," Sollux finally says, tossing the controller onto a table. "You're God-Tier. You can fucking fly."

"So can you, dipshit."

"Yeah, but I need to concentrate on it. You -- you can move around at the gogdamn speed of light. You have a sword."

"And you," you say, "are capable of flinging back hundreds of meteors at the same time. What's your deal?"

"Where'd you hear that from?"

"The local Karkat news, where else?"

"Huh," he says, his face twisting slightly. "What else has he said?"

"Not sure what you're -- "

"I guess I've been thinking on it," he says slowly, not turning to look at you. "You were with the trolls for what, 3 years? How was it?"

You detect a trap in his question, but you don't hesitate. "Weird as shit."

"Can you be a little more forthcoming?" he snaps, his hands twisting in his lap. "I'd just like to know what happened to my friends after I died."

You're not too comfortable with his expression.

"You've already seen Rose and Kanaya in their -- what you call it -- matespritship?"

"Okay."

"And you know that me and Terezi had a thing."

"I'd really rather not picture it, thanks."

"Terezi and Gamzee got pitch," and at _that_ his eyes widen a little. "Like, messed-up pitch. I really can't differentiate between healthy and fucked-up blackrom, but I mean, what the shit, she looked terrible when Karkat and I checked up on her -- "

"Weren't KK and GZ moirails?" he asks sharply.

"They broke up over Terezi." Your laugh is as rotten and bitter as you'd expect. "A lot of relationships went to shit the day the clown poked his fucking face out of the vent."

"Huh," he says, and stares at his knees.

An idea suddenly flares up in your mind -- you're not exactly digging this line of conversation, but you're not getting away emptyhanded either. "Let's make a deal."

"A deal?"'

"You strife with me, I'll tell you whatever you want." You put on your biggest smirk, filing away the little points of pain for later. "Just a nice rooftop session. Then we can open up the can of worms from the past."

"Why do you want to Strife that much?"

You freeze at the question.

Sollux must have seen your expression completely transform, because there's a hint of wariness as he finally faces you, hands clamping nervously in his shirt. 

"For fun," you want to say, but there's more to that. Maybe it's that in this field, you're the most confident -- you explicitly know how the endgame will turn out.

Against your brother, against someone whose instincts are probably jacked up off-the-charts -- you already know the turnout. It's inevitable. You'll be cut, pummeled, and hit at the right spots to make you crumple like paper.

Back when you and Karkat waxed pitch, it was damn near effortless to disarm him, throw him down, pin every moment to nothing more than frantic thrashings. To _yielding._

Even when you fought alongside your -- _other brother? but they're the same_ \-- and Terezi against the Jacks, a blurring whiz of heated haze and blades and burning in the air, the sky boiling like sickly-green tar, you could guess how it would all play out.

It's the _surety_ of strife, you think. It's its foregone conclusion. You could rewind, take a billion alternate routes, but it'll end with you alone on the roof and the sun hanging over your head.

Maybe Sollux gets it a little, because he throws in: "You don't have to answer that, actually."

"Thank you," you say, holding out a hand to him. For once your voice doesn't drip with sardonicism, and reluctantly he lets you pull him up.

====

Rooftop style.

You...really haven't done this in a while. You prefer long-distance, where your psionics will be more adapatable, and the memory of your last strife --

_eyes_

makes nausea bubble in your gut. You should've _won._ You should have thrown in a bit more. Maybe you could've saved FF, not that she needed it -- because it didn't matter.

Gog.

"Heads up." Dave's sword gleams in the air, an ugly monstrosity of curving and flat metal that's wickedly sharp at the tip. He's changed back to God-Tier raiment too; his cape flaps around his heels, even though there's no wind. Slowly, you pocket your shades.

You really don't want to do this. And judging by the hard set of his face, the way his fingers shake a little on the hilt, you suspect he might not either.

"Dave -- "

"You promised, dude. Keep up your end of the bargain." He's two seconds from splitting at the seams; his mouth's a damn flat line, his knuckles white. "Just get in fucking position."

"Look, if you really don't want to -- "

"I _fucking_ want to, okay?!" and his voice _cracks,_ like a ragged sob was caught in his throat. "I've gotta -- I need to set up a _pattern_, can't just waste all my shit out here."

You scroll through your memories, trying to dissect the root of the problem.

"If it's about your brother -- "

He _moves._

You suppose he moves, because he travels from one distinct point to another -- but that implies you actually tracked his movement. In reality it'e be more akin to fluid seeping from a glass, the way he simply _bends_ the world around him, sloping at surreal angles, and you realize you're staring at an imprint of his shadow.

"Lose," he drawls behind you, his sword pressed to your neck. You swat at him and he skims away.

You crush down the anger that rose in your stomach. It's not what he wants, it's not what you're signing up for, and you're not going to be stringed around to fulfill some bizarre hatchmate-combat fantasy -- you've only seen the briefest moments of his timeline, but so many were of the two trading blows across the roof, swords and blades and shoes and shades blending into an unholy blur that pushed even your species' range of mobility. You wonder if they even disturbed the dust around them.

"Let's step up our game, dude. Unless you were the Karkat of your team?"

A swell of both defensiveness and protectiveness flush hotly in your gut. "Shut your fucking mouth."

"More like it, " and he's _goading_ you, his shades just at an angle where you can glimpse the white of his eye, although not his iris -- even though his whole body's shuddering, like some fungus is trying to make him implode. His feet pace the roof nervously. 

This time, when he charges you, you pull the oldest trick in the book.

You _yank_ yourself upward, catapulting by both sheer velocity and psionics, sending out a cascade of flashing sparks in a mininature ripple around your body -- classic distraction technique. He instinctively tries to avoid the sparks before realizing they have the lethality of moths.

"Asshole," he hisses out, but you're already floating a good ten feet in the air. Maybe you could just fly high enough and snipe at him, and put this inanity to a rest.

You might've forgotten he could fly too.

You barely manage to catch his swinging blade, the edge inches above your arms, and both of you struggle over its control. He's _strong._ He's pulling with all his might, and you realize he's trying to _slow down_ Time -- forcing it to a crawl -- and your head spins dizzily, even as faint red gears appear in the air, ticking slowly and rhythmically. He grits his teeth a little --

and a _dozen_ of him pop out of fucking nowhere --

Time clones. Right. Aradia had those, but his discount collection attacks you all at once, swords flashing in the air, some flash-stepping into shadowy streaks.

Fuck.

You lash out with your own psionics; tendrils erupt from your arms, spiraling at every place at once, massive blue-and-red bolts bursting into brilliant veins that tease the air into something sharp. Around three Daves get caught in the crossfire; they're much weaker than his original version, instantly cindering away into paltry ash.

The others don't suffer the same treatment.

_Fuck fuck _fuck, you really weren't built for close combat -- hell, even KK could perform better with his stupid sickle. His sword lands once, twice, thrice across your arms, your shoulders, somehow managing to cut through your barriers -- another one of them gets seared into crumbly pieces from your forcefield, but more are pushing in --

You turn to the original Dave, who's still trying to swing for your neck.

If he _wanted_ close-up, you'll fucking give him close up.

You tear out pieces of the roof, breaking the chunks into electrified fragments -- each as sharp as deadly shrapnel -- and you hurl them at his counterparts. They're already blinking away, but you fling out your hands and they go in every direction possible -- sprays of red blood burst in the air, and something horrible solidifies in your gut.

Christ, was he doing all this just for a strife --

The original Dave has no such qualms; already he's leaping onto you and you're trading blows, foot by foot -- his strength is nowhere near your psionic ones, but his speed is unbeliavable. Even Gamzee couldn't move that fast. One moment he's _there,_ the next moment vaulting over your head, slicing at your neck, and you realize you're being cornered, slowly getting pushed to the edge of the roof.

_I can fucking fly,_ you really want to spit out. _What the hell's your plan --_

When his foot strikes out at your chest, you're unable to catch it in time -- your claws rake his pants, his ankle, but his kick vibrates to your spine. You're falling, and reflexively you propel yourself upward at maximum speed, anger hissing in your ears --

right into your field of sharpened roof bits.

They _rake_ across your back, your shoulders, and the pain is _awful_ \-- yellow blood seems to burst from you like a bomb, and belatedly you realize it's Dave's sword rammed through your abdomen all the way to the hilt. He slides it out a little -- the pain almost killing you there and then -- and pushes back in, until your guts shudder into pieces and you're puking so much blood through your ears, your nose, just like when you were trying to accelerate the meteor and every vein felt like it was fried alive --

"_Dave, shit,_ stop -- "

Was he actually -- you know it wasn't a big deal, you could resurrect in ten seconds flat --

but the _gesture_ \--

that he actually had the temerity to go through it --

Once again, you die in your own puddle of blood.

====

When he resurrects a small amount of time later, you're pacing at the very edge of the roof.

He's still caught in the cloud of shrapnel -- he lets out a shriek of pain but pushes the shards away with psionics. The air's dampened with its smell. It smells like something burning for a long time, the smoke permanently permeated, and it makes your guts churn.

You killed him.

You've killed sentient things in Strife before -- because that was the _fucking point_ \-- but here, you dragged him into fighting you and you stuck a sword in him for his efforts. And not heat-of-the-moment either -- you maliciously slid a sword through his organs, watching him writhe in pain, trying to prove your point.

_Of what?_

What the hell were you trying to pull?

Revival clears away the massive stomach wound he had sported, but it doesn't clean up the insane amount of yellow blood drenching his clothes. A few light cuts are peppered over his face. He's gagging now, trying to wipe away the blood frantically. He still hasn't seen you.

You're patient enough.

Finally --- _finally _\-- he gets his bearings around him. Without his shades, he looks -- vulnerable. Soft. He's so _thin_, barely crossing the threshold of 'life' -- and guilt swamps you all at once, because you're a sick fuck and you dragged him into this and he'll kill you back, he'll make you suffer -- and worst of all, you'll deserve every inch of it --

"DV," he's saying, and with an unpleasant shock you realize he's crouching in front of you. His face winces in pain.

He should be trying to kill you.

"Hey." And he's -- he's -- not exactly crying, but a faint film of yellow coats the corners of his eyes. He's trying to pap your face but you jerk away from him, because you killed someone out of cold blood just to see what it felt like --

"Was that the first grief you've ever won?"

You've won against faceless monsters. You've thrown down your opponents.

But a raw, honest strife is something you can't claim to.

"You miss him, do you?"

You don't even need to ask to know who he's referring to.

"I'm sorry," you gasp out, your hands fisting desperately in your cape. Your thoughts are an upended jar of marbles, scattered all over the tiles. He's so _close_ \-- so warm, so _there,_ and no one else is. Out of all the partnerships among the bubbles, he's the one stuck with you.

"You miss fighting with him?"

"That's all I had with him," you retort, even as his bony arms wrap around your shoulders. He's the one bleeding and bloodied and comforting you. You can feel how hard he's shaking -- like he's about to dissolve -- and you wondered why, why he puts up with this, why you asked him in the first place --

"_Fuck,"_ he mutters, and you raise your head to see his face twisted in some expression you can't place. "I -- I shouldn't have gone along. I should've just -- stayed away from the past. It shouldn't matter to me anymore." He sucks in a breath. "I -- I should've talked you out of this. Be there for you."

This interplay of pity -- platonic, you reminded yourself -- tugging both of you together, making you wound loose in each other's arms -- how you can feel his claws scraping over your spine, how you can hear his breathing, slow and slightly hitched, his hair scratchy against your palms.

"DV -- "

"Let's get you cleaned up," you say. He must be able to sense that it's your way of apologizing, because he lets you half-carry him back inside.

====

"Anything you want to ask," Dave says, politely turning away from you as you fumble to lose your clothes, "and I'll tell you. I won't shit around." He's dressed back in his usual garb.

Your thoughts flit haphazardly around.

"I don't know," you finally manage, crawling into lukewarm water. Dave turns around to look at you -- his gaze remaining firmly on your face -- and squats besides you. The air between you has changed; it's more _charged,_ and you know it's a result of what happened on the roof.

Of when you realize how fucked up he is.

And in turn, the vice versa.

"You told me stuff about the other trolls," you say thickly instead. "But not really anything about you."

Dave's shoulders stiffen a little.

"Ask away, then."

By some unspoken rule you know better than to pry into whatever the hell had happened up there. "What about you and the other trolls?"

"I was matesprits with Terezi for some time." You've already guessed that out, much to your dark amusement. "But then we broke up. It was mutual, it was okay. I guess."

"And?"

"And then me and Karkat had a thing. I think. We never broke up over it."

A stunned silence rings in your head.

"You and _Karkat?_"

"For the love of God, please don't tell me you had something for him too."

"No..." you shake your head a little, spraying droplets onto his face. "But -- he's -- really?"

"Yeah."

"He's my best friend," you finally say, because the mess of emotions you had with him isn't worth dissecting over. "First and foremost, he's my friend, and I -- did you hurt him?"

"I never planned to," Dave says quietly. "And I tried my best not to."

_Not like what I did to you._

Something's taken over your body -- some low, simmering instinct formed from hearing Karkat's name, hearing Dave's voice so soft and not abrasive for once, seeing him lose it on the roof, dragged back into your own memories --

"Dave?" you say, almost in a whisper.

And then you're leaning forward, your mind completely blank -- one moment you're naked, tensed in a tub, the next thing Dave's mouth is slantly gently against yours, as chaste and light as Aradia's was. But his intentions aren't pale at all, judging by the way his hands shake when he rests them on your shoulders, cradling your head.

His lips are cold.

They're freezing as they explore your mouth, and simultaneously you flinch away from the touch -- your heart pounds loudly in your chest, your stomach tight sick knots -- and then you lean into it, and your lips part for him. You can feel his breath against your tongue. You can feel his _tongue_ against yours, tracing the interior of your mouth, with sure, steady strokes that makes heat jolt down to your groin.

You feel vulnerable, bare and exposed, and water plasters his hair and clothes but he's leaning across the tub, his thumb caressing the side of your neck. His kisses are more intense, deeper; the surface of his shades press into your nose, and each time he flicks his tongue you feel like you're being paralyzed. Your head is dizzy. The water's growing cold around your legs.

Finally -- _finally_ \-- he parts for air. His shades have been pushed askew. You notice his eyes, then -- it's an intense red, like Karkat's blood, like your own eye, and you can see how blown his pupils are. His shoulders are shuddering, his hands cupped around the back of your neck. At some point your hands had a mind of its own and they're resting lightly on his sides, just above his hipbones. A faint pink blush is tainted across his cheeks.

"DV," you croak out.

He's -- he's staring off somewhere else, his chest rising and falling hard, his breaths shaky -- slowly, so slowly, he lifts his hands off your neck. His clothes are stained. He slips his aviators back over his face, looking everyone but at you.

"Sorry," he says. "Won't happen again."

And he absconds the fuck out of the bathroom, the door slamming loudly after them, and you're left stewing in your own filth. 

====

You're not too proud of the tune you're carrying so far.

The beat in the first few moments are steady enough, this rumbling growl that's already holding promise for complete apeshit -- but then your high peaks come, and they're stale enough that you almost gag. You're better than this. You've been trained by the best.

Goddamnit.

Mostly, the notes fill up the hollowness inside your head -- the hollowness that was once someone holding you, someone conversing with you, someone flinging verbal shit your way and you having gusto to return the vitriol. Now it's just cold, painful blankness, like ice has been dumped in your brain. Your music staggers and slows as you try to get your breathing under control.

You fucked up.

You -- _fuck -- _you shouldn't have even considered it, he's got nothing to do with the crap you have crammed in every nerve cell. He's seen your whole childhood, he's seen you at your nadir. You couldn't settle for friendly, eternal banter.

You had to fill up the emptiness and fucking stomp any possible friendship into the ground.

You wonder if he's still curled up in the tub, listening to water pour down the tiles. Maybe he's confused. Maybe he's pissed off as hell. The worst scenario, you think glumly, is that he believes you were being genuine. That he'll have feelings for you.

_He won't, you egotistical idiot,_ you chide yourself, but the horror still makes your arms shudder.

Ten minutes after this whole debacle, Sollux Captor stumbles out of the bathroom wearing his usual shitty outfit, but remarkably glasses-less. You watch him from the corner of your eye, your headphones still clamped over your ears. You don't dare turn toward him. 

You're a coward, and both of you know it.

He sits at the stool a safe distance from yours, still moving carefully from his wounds, and now it's guilt curling inside your chest -- he's _afraid _of you. He's afraid you'll pick up your sword and run him through like a pinata, or Dirkapitate him with your bare fists. He has the capability of flinging meteors to lightspeed and incinerating all of your organs with one glance and he's ready to run like a rabbit.

You let him sit there.

Minutes pass by. Hours. Years -- you don't care. You let the music pound in your head, let it blot out all senses except when the beat drops and the notes bounce around like live coals, this epic string of fluctuations and undulations that make you nearly smile at yourself. You're the fucking best DJ in all of Paradox Space and you damn well know it.

"DV," Sollux says.

Your volume is cranked up to full, your eardrums ready to burst, yet somehow you catch his voice, soft and hesitant as a toddler.

"DV," he repeats -- and okay, you concede that he exists. He's gripping the stool tightly and staring directly at you with such an intensely that you drop your gaze. You wonder if he'll sparking, but apart from his voice he looks completely calm.

You tug off your headphones and rest them on the turntables.

The silence fills like pins and needles in your ears.

"Why?" and his voice is almost a whisper.

"Why what?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

You resist the urge to mash your face in your hands. "I -- "

"I don't know what that was." He looks like he'd rather die again than be here, speaking to you. "I was just -- I -- maybe I'm desperate. I probably am. But I haven't -- haven't felt _red_ and then you're telling me your problems and you know mine's -- and I thought -- maybe -- just maybe -- "

It's like a hazy, confusing dream, all quiet chaos and broken thoughts, but then you're sliding off your headphones -- pain still raw in your ears -- you're touching the scars under his shirt, the cuts you gave him -- and his mouth is pliant under yours. It's not even desire for his body motivating you -- and you suspect the same for him -- it's the _need_ to open up, to bare all your organs to a stranger's eye, and you could give him that much.

Warmth trickles through your mouth.

He's making little hiccuping sounds by the time you part; you're guessing you're a mess yourself, judging by how hard you're breathing. His hands settle on your shoulders, your chest, rubbing softly over your stomach.

Maybe you could start something -- anything -- to break this awful silence.

You're dragging him by the wrists to your bedroom, then, and he takes your hand -- for a moment you think he'll bite off your fingers -- but he tilts down his head and brushes his fangs over your knuckles almost reverently. You shiver despite yourself.

"We don't have to --"

"I'm fine," he babbles, his voice raw. "Really. I'm down for anything, but don't -- don't shut me out. Please."

And then you're pushing him down on the bed, and you wonder how long it's been since anyone touched him like this. He was only 13 when he died, and he might be the same age and mentality as you but he'd never know what it felt like to be _touched,_ to be craved and bare and wanting --

He's _crying,_ you realize, even as you slide your lips down his neck and he gasps loudly, his claws scraping along your spine -- pale yellow tears glisten on his face, dampening your shoulders, and desperately he mouths at your ear and you can't help the moan that slips from you. His tongue traces the shell of your ear, the spot just beneath it -- your hands fist in the sheets violently.

You feel like you want to vomit at how your body's reacting.

You can't --

You hold your resolve, and bite down on his collarbone instead. Sollux tenses beneath you, his frame deadly still --

"Shit," you hiss, already crawling away -- _fuck, you fucked up, you waste of space_ \-- "I'm sorry, I should've asked, I shouldn't have done that -- "

The ferocity he kisses you with nearly makes your thoughts white out. It's all teeth and tongue exploring your mouth, sweeping down its sides; he grabs your hair and yanks your head back, and then he fastens his mouth over your pulse point -- his fangs scraping over your life veins -- dimly you're aware how tightly you're holding him close to you, your hands mapping all over his torso, his grub scars, while he bites down on your throat to leave a hickey and moans into your neck and each movement of his lips sends heat straight to your cock.

"Nnnnngh -- _fucking hell, _Sollux, oh my god -- "

You're not so much as kissing as messily mashing your mouths together, breathing in each other's space. He gasps into yours with a small, broken sound, his hands idlly flitting down to your hipbones, and it takes you a moment to realize he's saying something --

"_Dave,_" he's whispering, his voice cracking raw and painful, "Dave -- "

You shouldn't do this. You shouldn't do this, not when he's completely bared himself to you as if he's ripped open his skin and you can't let go of all the others you had -- you'll never distill away Terezi's quick, precise hands, or Karkat's callused, careful ones, not even when Sollux is falling apart in your arms, sweat plastering his shirt to his back, and he's saying your name like you're his lifeline.

Maybe you are.

You can't do that to him --

And then his fingers brush the front of your pants, and you groan softly. It's like he's lit every nerve you ever possessed on fire. You don't think twice for your next move -- your hands are already flying to his horns, wrapping around the larger pair, and you scrape your thumbnail across the membranes and he fucking _keens,_ an intense, yellow blush flooding his face. He grabs your shirt, planting open-mouthed kisses beneath your jaw, and you regret every moment of your life as you tilt his head back up 

meet his lips 

letting heat stroke your tongue, your own lips, until your thoughts are a puddle.

You're crouching over him, and he's digging a thigh between your own, and you've never been so hard in your life. You push up his shirt instead. His torso anatomy is similar to Karkat's, so different form yours -- muscles overlaying each other in completely bizarre fashion, bones arranged so foreign from your own -- he bucks his hips up, searching for friction, when you kiss where his navel would be.

Lower.

You let your fingers rest on the button of his pants. He stares back at you with a pleading hunger, his eyes glowing, and you feel your resolve weaken.

And when you press your mouth over the hot, wet shape of his nook, letting your tongue slide along hard ridges and soft flesh, listening to him sobbing your name, the only thing he's capable of saying -- when his smell fills your thoughts and you let him crawl over you, settling his hips over yours, sliding across your cock -- when you feel like you're about to be electrified, and hell, maybe you are by the way he's sparking and blue and red tingle over your torso, up the nerves of your neck, brushing over your nipples, working the nubs until you want to scream yourself hoarse --

All he's panting out is your name, but you can't say his back. You _can't._ When he wraps a hand around your dick, fisting it in slow, steady strokes, all you think of is 

Karkat settling his body over yours in your bed, lips against your throat

maybe Terezi, giggling and poking at you with a stub of red chalk

When you push your hips against his, your peak radiating into sheer, circuit-stopping brilliance, he bites into your shoulder and spills his material over your thighs, and the _sight_ of him so open, so vulnerable, pushes out a name from your mouth --

_Sollux_

before you pass out in a small puddle of fluids.

====

For the rest of the time in the bubble, you and Dave don't speak at all.

He promised not to shut you out, and you promised to be there for him, and both of you shatter your vows like glass onto the cold hard floor.

You stay in your room. You can faintly hear music peeling from the communal room, but you shy your thoughts away from him. How he had touched you, and made you unravel, and how both of you woke and dressed in absolute silence.

You can't even touch yourself to the memory without feeling sick.

And it's times like these, when the bubble's completely silent and you can distantly see the others drift by randomly, that you wish the most that you could just be alive. No, even before that -- before the Game ever happened, when your world was just your hive and Aradia and Karkat's text filling up your screen, rust and grey grounding you in your moods.

Because when you're dead, it meant they were as meaningless as dust.

====

Sometimes the universe takes pity on you.

Sometimes it rewards you with the littlest things -- like glimpsing Sollux in the hallway, and realizing his eyes are solid red and blue -- like his shades -- and you clear your throat a little. He jumps in surprise before flinching away.

"Your eyes," you say instead, and then you turn away because your throat's all closed up.

Slowly -- gradually -- the bubbles start drifting closer to yours. You and Sollux go up onto the rooftops, watching, never speaking. What happened between you had buried and died the moment it occured. Even with the revelation that he's somehow being pushed back to the world of the living -- judging by his eyes -- he's as stoic and moody as ever. 

_If he's alive_

Then maybe something's happening.

====

There comes a day when the bubbles finally reunite.

You wake on the futon to someone _crashing_ into your apartment, and you're already leaping up with sword in hand. It's the pair of troll "moirails" Sollux had once pointed out to you so long ago. They look at you confusedly.

"You're in my bubble," you intelligently respond.

"You're a human, aren't you?" _Nepeta,_ you remember her name, and the big one next to her is Equius. They stare at you with a mix of wariness and fascination. Their eyes aren't white; both have the black irises and yellow scelera you've grown accustomed to.

"Yeah."

This is incredibly awkward.

Then Sollux walks in, and his eyes widen at the sight of the two -- it's the most emotion you've seen out of him since forever. You move aside, watch him semi-reluctantly shake Equius's hand and wave hi at Nepeta, their voices low and excited as they speak --

"No, Aradia has not been residing in our bubble," you hear Equius say. "But she's been visiting through, trying to push all the bubbles together -- she says she's been looking for -- "

A silhouette falls across the doorway.

And then Sollux is _flying_ towards the girl, all delicate curving horns and shining wings and the same red as you wear -- and their embrace shudders through the air, like two stones crashing into each other, the way they clutch at each other like lifelines and you can hear Sollux sobbing quietly, his hands tangled in Aradia's thick curtain of hair --

You turn away instead.

====

The Game's won.

And as a reward, all the players get a little piece.

Because hours later -- you suppose it's hours -- you, Equius, Nepeta, Aradia, and Sollux are standing on some sort of empty platform, watching other bubbles get closer and closer. The latter two hold each other almost possessively. 

It's a relationship that lasts through the universe.

You have the hollowness of your own heart to attend to. You scan the bubbles desperately, trying to find nubby horns or even conical ones, or blonde hair and black lips, or dorky blue, or bubbling green -- pastel orange --

You don't notice Sollux walking up to you, alone, until he does.

"Hey," he says quietly.

You stand there, and he stands there, and the bubbles draw closer.

"I'm -- " he struggles with the words, his face flushing a little. "I -- maybe I got carried away. I don't know about you. But I don't want this to keep affecting us."

"Yeah," you say softly, because the tightness in your chest screams something else but you'll never have the gut to say it.

"Yeah," you repeat, as gently as you can. "It's -- it wasn't built off something real, man. It was just weird circumstances. It shouldn't mean that much to -- to either of us."

Sollux nods and gazes at your shoes.

"I guess so," he mumbles. "I guess it didn't mean much."

His confirmation sinks like a stone in your stomach.

Then he's walking away, walking to Aradia and the kiss they share -- barely a kiss, more of a brushing of lips -- leaks a _rawness_ that you knew you two never replicated, one that reminded you of exposed hearts and jagged metallic edges. Already, he's blending in into a small crowd of trolls, still holding Aradia's hand, playfully punching at a purple-caped troll's shoulder and giving a quick, one-armed hug to a troll that looks like princess royalty. Already, he's smiling, smiling like you've never see him smile, all his double fangs and teeth in full view, and it suits him perfectly. 

Footsteps come up by you.

"Hey, Dave."

It's Terezi, an uncharacteristic solemnness on her face. 

She's carefully holding Karkat's hand.

You don't hesitate a second. Already he's in your arms, and you in his, and Terezi sniffs a little and joins your hug, and then you can hear John's voice and Vriska's annoying cackle and then more people are coming over -- Rose and Kanaya and Jade and Dirk and then others you've only seen once or twice, all being enveloped in the most epic hug of all proportional time, and when you all break apart you see a few stragglers cheering at your embrace, and then another group a fair distance away, celebrating their own reunion -- the group that never made as far as you did --

You realize, from this suffocating angle, that you can't see Sollux.

You bury your face into Karkat's hair and breathe him in, and you just

you just let him go, you suppose.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so the endings kinda obv that i petered out a lil cause i wrote this really nonsequel -- beginnign and end i wrote together, middle i wrote later (like a lot later) so i kinda lost the vibe
> 
> nonetheless this was pretty fun two rite


End file.
